


Vulnerability

by livvysunshine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adoptive family, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family Fluff, Father Rumplestiltskin, Fluff, Happy Ending, Mild Angst, Papa Gold, Storybrooke, enchanted forest, feel good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvysunshine/pseuds/livvysunshine
Summary: The Dark One makes many deals. Rumplestiltskin is infamous for taking children as his payment, yet he has none himself. Yet there is always exceptions. There may still be an infant to help melt the Dark One's icy wall around his heart.Alternate Universe with Papa Gold. Chapters will alternate between the Enchanted Forest Story, and the Storybrooke story. Multi-POV (Rumplestiltskin, Emma, Belle, and Original Character)Updates on Mondays (bi-weekly)
Relationships: Belle & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 23
Kudos: 37





	1. Of Deals and Infants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark One makes a deal

Once upon a time, in an enchanted forest, there lived a merchant and his wife. Sadly, this merchant was not good at his job. He often found himself buying stolen or forged goods, and not being able to receive even half of what he paid for them back. He gambled what he did have, and drank the last of the coppers away. 

His wife was a seamstress, though a harsh pregnancy had left her unable to work. By the time she gave birth, no one would call upon her for her work. Another woman had moved into the village; besides, no one really wanted to give work to the drunken gambler’s wife, knowing where it would be going. 

They lived in a shack; to call it such was giving it too much credit, as it probably was more of a hovel than a shack. It was a shelter in that it had four walls, a roof, and a door. However it was a single room. The door hung wrong and let in a draft, and the fireplace never seemed to stay warm no matter how hot the inferno inside appeared to be. To even say there were four walls was a gift. There was a singular wall made of clay and mud bricks that were degrading from the rain and the snow and the wind. The rest were made of rotting wood, hastily put together. The merchant had once suspected the shelter was made during the First Ogres War and then quickly abandoned. Seemed fitting… 

Their life had never been perfect. Though most couples found the addition of a baby to greatly improve their lives, the merchant and the seamstress found only sorrow and despair after the birth of their daughter. So much so that they had not even bothered to name the child. It was nearly out of the wet season when they decided enough was enough. They had been hungry, the only one eating being the child, and whatever it was that she was able to suckle from her mother’s breasts wasn’t enough. The girl wasn't fat and round as babies were supposed to be. The little pink thing rarely cried out, and if they pretended for long enough, it was easy to forget they even had a daughter that was a living and breathing thing. 

They were done starving. The baby would not stay a baby forever… And they hadn’t a single coin to their name. Luckily, there was an option. One where payment wouldn’t be in coins.

“The Dark One,” the merchant whispered one night. The Merchant’s name was Gerrault. Why he whispered, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was the rumors that invoking the Dark One’s name was inviting him in. Even if he had only spoken the title, the fear remained that he was inviting a demon into his home. 

“What of him?” Hadley, his wife, answered. She was tending to a little gown for the baby, lazily stitching the raw edge so it was a nice finished hem. Most mothers sat and embroidered for their daughters and sons, crafting designs and sigils for happiness and wealth and luck. Not Hadley. Not for the little being that had nearly killed her to birth. 

“The Dark One makes deals, correct? I heard a rumor that he’d do nearly anything in exchange for a baby.”

Hadley frowned. The idea of trading away the infant for anything felt wrong. Like slavery. Wasn’t this baby still a soul? And who knew what the Dark One did to the infants he took! Perhaps it wasn’t any better than the Black Fairy taking them… 

However, Hadley also had no great attachment to the squirmy pink thing that lay in the strawlined cradle. The baby was frail, having been born early, and her cry was little more than a billy goat’s when she let it out. The blonde hair on top of her head had begun to curl, and the shack so dark that she’d never even know what color the baby’s eyes were. 

Gerrault took Hadley’s hands, forcing the woman to look him in the eyes once more. “What if she never forgives us?” she asked. 

Gerrault frowned. “Perhaps she’ll never know…”

“She won’t.” 

The voice shocked both of the young parents, making them spin to face it. By the fireplace, right next to the baby, was a man. He was dressed in fine leathers that hugged his figure far more than Gerrault was comfortable with. His skin reflected the firelight like fish scales, or dragons, reflecting an iridescent golden green. With eyes like that of a cat, and a smile as wide as a crescent moon, the man before them was decidedly  _ not  _ a man. Not anymore at the very least. 

“Dark One…” Gerrault said in greeting. 

“In the flesh.” The dragon-skin man swept himself into a mocking bow. 

Gerrault glanced at his wife, then to the crib Rumpelstiltskin stood by. Rumpelstiltskin. It was said you had to repeat his _ name _ three times to summon him, yet they had only said Dark One. He had been listening… waiting. Waiting for some poor desperate bastard like Gerrault to make a deal. The Dark One noticed the gaze of the man and followed it to the hastily made crib.

“What a pretty little babe,” he said, holding out one finger to point at her. “Willing to trade her?”

Hadley closed her eyes. This was beyond embarrassing. This was horrible. She was about to sell her only child. Yet she couldn’t find it in her to say she loved the baby. At most she tolerated the screaming and crying. At worst, Hadley despised the pink swaddle of blankets for existing. The past three weeks had been torture. 

Gerrault however was beyond himself. The babe was innocent. Her only crime was being born, and even then, she had never asked for it. Yet it had been his idea to trade her away. Shouldn’t he strive for a better life for him and his wife and any other future children? If this was all he had, and the Dark One thought this a worthy deal… he had to take it. There was nothing else to their name. Just the baby. 

“What could you give us?” he asked softly. 

“More gold than you’d know what to do with and an estate to rival royalty,” he said. “All in exchange for  _ that _ baby.” Rumpelstiltskin again pointed to the sleeping girl. His nails were sharp, Hadley noticed. Like talons. More a monster than a man. 

It was only a simple exchange between husband and wife. A single look. A mutual understanding. Starve slowly to death and be forced to give the child up only to fight for bread, or sell her and become wealthy beyond their dreams? It wasn’t as hard of a decision as it should have been. They both realized this. It changed nothing. 

In the end, it was Gerrault who nodded. “Deal,” he said. 

Within seconds, they were suddenly in an estate, a purple fog dissipating around them. A large sweeping foyer, a sitting room to the right, a ballroom to the left, and more estate to explore was revealed as the final wisps of magic left.

“The treasury is full to the brim with gold; the fields primed and perfect for any crop you desire,” Rumpelstiltskin said. The couple turned back to him and noticed that the baby was now in a basket that he held in one hand. “Oh! One last little detail. Her name and her birthday. I need those.” 

Gerrault shook his head in disbelief. “Her birthday is the first day of Spring. We never gave her a name. She was early and we feared we would be burying her.” 

The Dark One hummed. Nameless. He was good with names. With the new information and the baby basket in hand, he gave his signature impish grin and twirl of his wrist.

“Adieu,” he said, and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the couple to stand and stare at where he once was, and to begin reconciling the choice they had just made. 

They had just sold their baby, in exchange for a plush and comfortable life, and couldn’t find it in themselves to be overly sorrowful… Hadley hugged her husband, eyes closed tightly. “What have we done?” 

* * *

Miles and miles away, the Dark One was sweeping the dark streets in search of a well deserving couple. He always did this with the babies he took from families. If a family was willing to even consider selling their baby for a better life, he would make them suffer and find a better family for the innocent child. Children were innocent after all. If the Dark One had a vulnerability other than his dagger… it was children. 

It was well known he’d make his payment for a deal that of a first born. It was probably a rumor that he ate the children, or sacrificed them to some evil and ancient god. Yet it wasn’t the Dark One to deal with children. It was Rumpelstiltskin. Dealing in giving away children was a lesser known quality of his. Those parents never questioned where he acquired the baby. And none were willing to admit they had traded something equally as precious for the child. 

The little girl in the basket wailed, drawing him out of his thoughts. The cry was loud enough that he was concerned that a few villagers might venture out, and he really didn’t want to pose for the tiny hamlet like a show pony. So he carefully lifted the babe from the basket, remembering how to soothe from his time caring for Baelfire, though it had been centuries now. 

She was too young to even have real tears. Her angelic face just scrunched up as she screamed. Her cry was wobbly and reedy-thin. The first day of Spring is what the man had said. That was just over three weeks ago now. 

“You’re too pretty a thing to cry like that,” he said softly, stroking a single finger down her cheek.

Shockingly, she stopped. Her eyes opened, and he could’ve sworn they focused on him immediately. Her tiny fist wrapped around his finger as she fell back asleep, curling towards the warmth of his chest. It was such a chilly night. It would be cruel to leave her in a basket on a doorstep.

But there was something more with that. His heart was… warm. Warm like it had been the first time he’d laid eyes on Bae. Warm like when he had watched his son take his first steps, or read for the first time. Here was this innocent babe, not wailing seeing his scaly skin, not screaming while seeing his sharp nails… she was watching. The innocence of children. Of babies in particular. It fascinated Rumpelstiltskin.

Without thinking, he waved his hand and found himself stalking through the hallways of the Dark Castle, up the stairs to a bedroom that was meant for him. He didn’t sleep. He could if he really wanted to, but trying was exhausting, and it was easier to just spin and forget. So instead, the room sat, dusty with disuse.

Another wave of his hand, and the room became a nursery fit for royalty. The dark walls were suddenly plastered and painted a soft cream color. The four poster bed turned to a carved wooden crib, fit for a princess to sleep in. The furniture brightened and softened as it shifted from bedroom to nursery. Once he deemed it appropriate, and had filled the closet and dresser with far too many gowns than any one infant could soil, he set down the basket. 

Carefully, as to not wake her, he rewrapped her in a warmer and clean blanket, by hand. Not with magic. He didn’t dare do magic on the babe; besides, he still knew how to swaddle as if it had only been yesterday Bae had been born.

Once she was in the crib, still asleep, he watched her carefully. The mobile spun gently. Roses. Glass roses that caught the light and spun gently above her. Her eyes stayed contently closed, having closed when she was swaddled. Bae had always calmed when swaddled as well. 

Babies, he found, were usually very squishy and pink at this age, all of them looking like little hobgoblins or small versions of old men. Not particularly cute. 

She was.

She was a beautiful baby, like a perfect replica of a doll.

So that night he sat, making his spinning wheel appear by the crib so he could keep an eye on her, his new little doll. That night he gave her a name. 

Juliet. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a shorter chapter, but Chapter 2 is already up! We update on Mondays, if all goes to plan. All comments are really appreciated as this is a more experimental fic for me in writing style (multi POV, you'll see)
> 
> I'm excited to share this new story I've had for a while.
> 
> Really fast, if you somehow have found me from Tumblr, I did base this off of an RP I have done, and this is published with permission from my RP partner. Juliet is MY original character. Thank you all! Happy reading 
> 
> EDIT: I have rewritten parts of Chapter 1 and will be doing so for the other 4 chapters that are up! Thank you to supertrooperbyabba on Tumblr for being my beta for this! I now know where I am going with this story and I'm excited to fix it up a bit and share it!


	2. Of Meetings and Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma meets a new resident of Storybrooke, one she had never even heard the name of.

Emma parked the car outside of the store. She’d been told that if she needed something, Mr. Gold would help. For a price that is. As stupid as it was, Emma figured trying to see what information he could give her was worth the shot. There wasn’t much she could lose or trade away, but information was key. If she was going to stay here, and the deputy badge at her hip was proof she was going to, then she needed to learn more. 

Regina may have been the mayor, but it seemed that everyone knew the real power was in Mr. Gold’s hands. So naturally he would be Emma’s first stop for information.

Mr. Gold’s Pawn shop was on the main stretch of road. She’d passed it before when driving to Granny’s from the mayor’s house. Adjusting her armor, she got out, shutting the door behind her as she walked the short distance to the door. Normally, Emma wasn’t afraid of anyone. Though the brief interactions with Mr. Gold that she had put her on edge at the very least. She already owed him one favor… Being cautious was advisable when dealing with these kinds of people. So Emma took a deep breath and twisted the door knob. 

The bell rang merrily as she opened the door and took in the cluttered pawn shop.

The shop smelled old. The way old libraries or museums smelled. It smelled like history. And it was crammed full of items. Jewelry cases, books, knick-knacks and antique toys. There were some larger pieces of furniture, like a vanity set that was a deep mahogany stain, and small trinkets. The bell above the door chimed once more as the door closed behind her. The blinds clacked against the glass before settling into silence. The silence unnerved Emma. She was used to loud sounds. Silence was suspenseful and dangerous. Being surrounded by antiquities, and making unfortunate eye contact with some marionette puppets with leathery looking skin, Emma found herself extremely uncomfortable with the quiet of the shop. 

“Hello?” she called.

To Emma’s surprise, a teenager popped up from behind the main counter. “Hello! Sorry! One moment! I dropped a thimble and he’s a sucker for inventory so I need to find it. Trouble is it’s a dark blue… and the lighting in here is terrible…” 

Emma blinked. This was not Mr. Gold. The girl’s blonde curls ducked back under the counter and returned two seconds later, a thimble held proudly in her fingers. She was young. Maybe 16 or 17? Not much younger than Emma was when she had Henry… The woman pushed the thought away. Pregnancy as a teenager was hard. Pregnancy as a teenager in a juvenile detention center was worse. Memories like that were to be locked in a box and never to be thought of again. That was damn hard for Emma with Henry in her life. 

The girl was dressed much nicer than Emma would suspect a teen would want to dress on a Saturday. The dress she wore was navy blue with pink flowers over it. The cardigan she wore over it was chunky and thick, cozy looking. And also, by the appearance, absurdly expensive for what it was. A gold necklace glinted against her collarbone, and Emma couldn’t help but wince at the thought of the girl wearing a dress. It was fall, and Maine was already settling into winter before Thanksgiving had even struck. 

The girl set the thimble into a display box, next to a dozen of other thimbles in all shapes and colors. Obviously, Mr. Gold liked to have quite the inventory of things to sell. Emma waited for her to turn and flash a smile. The girl had a youthful face. A dimple dotted her left cheek when she grinned. 

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked, obviously a little excited to be able to offer assistance. 

“I’m just looking for Mr. Gold,” Emma said. She was grateful it had taken a moment for the teen to get situated, as it had given Emma time to process this. No one had said a word about Mr. Gold having someone who helped him in the shop. She had expected to find him here alone. 

“Right, erm… he stepped out for lunch. I can take a message if you’d like?” she suggested.

Emma frowned. “How old are you?” 

“Seventeen.”

“Are you old enough to be watching this store alone?” Old enough to work here? Sure. But to be left alone in Mr. Gold’s shop when he wasn’t here? Anything could happen to this girl. 

“Well, it’s my father’s store so… I guess? He won’t be gone long, Granny’s is just down the street. You’re more than welcome to wait here.” The girl had a soft accent. Scottish? British? One of those that could sound like it came from anywhere. No wonder Henry was so entranced with the storybook character idea, everyone sounded like they  _ should _ be in stories.

Emma let out a soft ‘huh.’ So Mr. Gold had a daughter. A teenaged daughter who seemed very sweet and slightly mischievous. Which was odd, how those two qualities could live in harmony in this girl’s green eyes. 

Emma prided herself on being able to get a read on people. Usually she could tell pretty quickly if someone had good intentions. More than anything, Emma could tell this girl was lonely. Her bright, bubbly tone and the wide smile spoke loud enough that she was just excited to have company that perhaps wasn’t her father. 

“Well… could you tell him Emma Swan stopped by? We’ve already met. I was just stopping by to see if we could discuss something. It isn’t urgent.” 

Emma was quiet. The only sound was a ticking clock and the sound of piano music. It had been too faint to hear before when Emma first came in, or perhaps it had been between pieces. But undeniably, a record player was turning in the corner and an orchestra was playing. Emma didn’t know enough classical music to name the composition, but it was familiar. One of those pieces everyone knew but couldn’t name why. She had a feeling this girl knew exactly what composition it was. If she was Mr. Gold’s daughter, then she probably had an expensive upbringing. 

“He didn’t mention he had a daughter,” Emma finally said. 

The girl had moved to another counter, writing down a few numbers in a book. “We don’t get outsiders here. And everyone knows about me here… I really just go to school, work here, go home. Sometimes I spend time in Granny’s with a novel, but Leroy usually harasses me. I like keeping to myself. Me and Papa both do.”

“Why does Leroy harass you?” Emma was rather worried the grumpy man was making… unwanted advances at the teen.

“My name. My father. My mother? Nothing terrible. Just… single sentences that make you deflate. He’s miserable and has to bring everyone else down with him”

Emma’s silence was evidence enough she was clueless as to what the girl was talking about. She giggled and set down her pen before looking up at Emma. The girl was very sweet looking. Petite and delicate. Her hair was ringlets of blonde and her eyes a deep green. Emma found herself thinking the girl could be a model if she wanted to.

“My name is Rose,” she finally spoke. “Rose Gold. My birth parents had named me before I was given my last name. Anyway, that’s one. Then my father. You’ve been here long enough to know he isn’t well liked in town, deputy. And then my mother… well I don’t have one. My father adopted me alone, hence the first name before last. Leroy thinks it’s odd for a single man to adopt a child alone.”

“The mayor adopted Henry and she’s single.” Emma blinked. “And how do you know I’m the deputy?”

“Regina is a single mother. Far more socially acceptable. And again, my father isn’t well liked. He owns a lot of places, rents them out, and people don’t like that. Along with owning a lot of places, he knows everything that happens in town, too. I’m privy to a lot of secrets.” She looked up conspiratorially. “And the badge, you know. Kind of gives it away. I’d heard Graham had filled that position finally.” 

“Oh… yeah. Honestly, I keep forgetting I’m wearing it. I got the job the day the mines collapsed.” She let there be a pause before she continued. “Rose Gold. Like the jewelry.”

“Mhm. I was named Rosaline by whoever birthed me, and my father liked the name, kept it, and thus I became Rosaline Gold. Or Rose.” 

“It’s a pretty name, Rosaline.” Emma was now just looking around the shop. Maybe if she hung around another minute or two, Mr. Gold would show up.

“We just got these in. Aren’t they gorgeous!?” Emma looked over and saw that Rose was setting out volumes of old books, all perfectly packaged in a box made to hold the set.

She pulled out a single volume. Old, yellowed pages, soft worn leather, and a cover that said _ Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare _ . Despite the obvious age and slight use from damage, it was a beautiful binding. Even Emma could admit that, and Emma wasn’t one for novels and plays. 

Rose inspected the book as if it were a relic to another time. Probably ensuring whatever damage there was would be easily repairable.

“Well… tell your father I stopped by, and I’d appreciate his help.” It was obvious that Mr. Gold was taking far longer than Emma had anticipated. She should be going anyways. 

Rose nodded, flipping through the play. “I will. Come by again if you need anything!”

Emma nodded back. “That’s the only play by Shakespeare I’ve read,” she commented.

Rose smiled. “It’s a good one. Sometimes I pretend I was named Rosaline after the girl Romeo was so in love with before Juliet. She really dodged a bullet. Or a knife, I suppose.”

Just as Emma was about to leave, she saw Mr. Gold walking in, his cane in one hand and a bag with the familiar Granny’s logo in the other.

“Miss Swan. What a pleasure to see you here,” he said, setting down the bag. Rose was instantly over, opening the bag. Emma could now see she was wearing tights, and pink heels as well that perfectly matched the little pink flowers on her blue dress. It was a sweet outfit, but expensive looking. Of course it was. Hadn’t Granny said Gold  _ owned  _ the town? By extension, Rose was the little heiress. The tiny heiress. With those shoes off, she couldn’t have been taller than 5’1” Emma thought. 

“I came looking for you. Rose here said I could wait a bit for you to return.” Emma placed her hands in her pockets. Armor. Her red leather jacket was her armor and she had to protect herself when it came to Mr. Gold. Besides, she had weight now. She was the deputy. In theory, she was the authority that he was going to respect. In reality, Emma hoped she’d never have to test that. 

“Well, my Rose is quite the conversationalist.”

“She told me an interesting little story.”

Rose finally pulled out a box and a drink, properly ignoring the two adults. “I’m gonna go eat this in the back, Papa,” she called before leaving. He smiled and nodded before turning his gaze back to Emma.

“What brings you here, Miss Swan?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?”

He pressed his lips together in a way she had now grown used to, and was learning she hated. “It wasn’t exactly needed information. I don’t give out details of my life freely.”

“I’ve been here long enough to know. No one in town mentions Rose. I haven’t seen her a single time. Do you know how… scary that looks? Like you’re locking her away from everyone.”

“People don’t talk about Rose because I asked them not to. As for not seeing her, she isn’t locked away everyday. She, unlike your Henry, goes to school everyday. I’ve heard he skipped again. Regardless, she goes to school, then she comes here, helps me, and we return home together. Does that answer your question?”

Emma was quiet for a moment. “So you adopted her?” She spoke quietly, scared that Rose could hear her in the back. 

“I wasn’t married or engaged to be, and I’d always had a soft spot for children. She is the reason I had connections to the adoption agency that Miss Mills received your son from.”

“She… she seems like a good kid.”

“What are you really here for, Miss Swan? My burger is growing cold, and I doubt you merely wanted to discuss my family.”

“I guess it’s nothing important. Just need some information. Anything I can get on Regina. I figured you’d give me some information and as payment you can just make that favor I owe you a little larger,” Emma said. 

He shrugged. “I can do that, though it’ll take time. And remember… a favor is special to me. If you really want that deal, be prepared for the price. Now if you please, I’d like to enjoy lunch with my daughter.”

“I do want the information, Gold. And I’m not scared of you. Have a good lunch… and next time, let her go out and pick it up. You wouldn’t want someone coming in here when she’s alone and kidnapping her or something.” 

With that, Emma left the shop, rather confused. Regina had said it was a rather large town… and she had been right. Information about the town be damned. She had a new person to look at: Rosaline Gold. 

Who was she and why did the town act like she didn’t exist? 

Waitresses and bartenders were always the best to ask for information from, in Emma’s experience. So to Granny’s she went. It had been her next stop of information in general anyways. At least now she knew what questions she wanted to ask. So she simply walked down the block to the diner. There was a spot open at the counter, and Emma promptly sat there. Ruby came over with a smile.

“What’ll you have today, Emma?”

“Uh, hot chocolate with cinnamon. Can I get it to go?”

Ruby nodded and turned. “Ruby? What do you know about Mr. Gold’s daughter?”

The waitress turned and shrugged. “Not much. She’s shy. She’ll come in here and read a book or do a paper then leave. He’s protective of her. Like… overly so. I think if a boy looked at her wrong, he’d have his eyes gouged out by some black market mafia hitman Gold hired. I don’t think she cares, but it’s sweet. I like that he has her. It at least reminds us all that he does have a heart despite the way he acts towards the rest of the town. Maybe she reminds him of that too. Even if she’s the only one he’s allowed to be a person around instead of… well, Mr. Gold.”

Emma nodded and thanked Ruby as the hot chocolate was set down. She pulled the to-go cup close to her and thought. 

“Think of it this way. They like being private. But when they do go out, it’s obvious that the only person Gold would do a thing for is Rose. And the only person Rose would dare trust with her secrets or her thoughts is him,” Ruby said.

Granny walked out of the kitchen. “Ruby? I have three orders waiting to go out!”

The brunette rolled her eyes and went to retrieve the plates. Granny stayed out for a second and looked at Emma.

“Rose is a good kid,” Granny Lucas said. “She’s shy. Sticks to her books and her schoolwork. Nothing wrong with that.”

“No. Not a thing. I just was unaware Gold had a daughter until today. I’ve been here a while so… I was just shocked.”

“There’s nothing to say about her. She keeps to herself. Probably the only kid in her class who doesn’t go out and get in trouble every other weekend. When I think of it, I think she’s the only one I’ve never had to kick out of the diner. Acts like a little lady. I may not like Mr. Gold, but he raised that girl well.”

Emma nodded at that and sat back. “Can I have another hot chocolate with cinnamon?” she asked.

Granny shrugged and made the drink quickly before taking the money from Emma’s hands. Henry would be out of school soon. And perhaps his book would have some answers. Not that Emma wanted to start believing in Operation Cobra, but if there was some hint as to what character he thought Rose was, Emma might feel better about her being so sheltered. The storybook wasn’t real nor was the curse, but Henry did have a good sense of knowing what people needed. Emma smiled slightly. Maybe he had gotten her sense of judgement. Maybe there was a part of her in him yet. 

* * *

  
  


“She isn’t in here!” Henry groaned. He pushed the book to Emma. They were sitting in her yellow bug, people watching. The hot cocoas were long since empty and their hunt for Rosaline Gold in the storybook was proving fruitless.

“So Mr. Gold is Rumplestiltskin. Like… straw to gold, steal your baby, Rumpelstiltskin?” Emma said.

Henry nodded. “So he must have stolen Rose!”

“That’s a bold accusation, kid. He adopted her. Like how Regina adopted you.”

“But he’s  _ Rumpelstiltskin _ . He kidnaps kids. That's what he does. It’s right here in the book! He’ll make any deal if he gets a baby out of it.”

Emma sighed and sat back in the seat, looking at the illustration. A man with oddly mottled skin, grinning as he sat at a spinning wheel. “Is everyone else in town in the book?”

“Maybe not their story, but they show up somewhere,” Henry explained. He turned the page and pointed. “See? Nearly everyone in town is at Snow and Charming’s wedding. If not, they show up somewhere else. I think. I haven’t been able to track down everyone. But mostly everyone!”

“Mostly everyone except whoever Rosaline is.”

“Exactly. So she must have been a secret! Like… like Rapunzel.”

“Locked in a tower by a witch. Maybe. I mean, in this storybook, Rumpelstiltskin seems to be involved in everything. He must really like inserting himself into other’s stories.”

Henry nodded. “Do you think Rose could help us with Operation Cobra?”

Emma shook her head. “She seems like someone who wants to stay private, Henry. Let’s respect that. Besides, do you really want to bring her in when she might go and tell it all to her father?” _ Keep up the fantasy, Emma, _ she thought. Rose Gold didn’t need to know how deep Henry’s theory went, and Emma doubted she’d like to hear Henry speak about her father as a villain. 

The boy huffed and sat back in his seat. Emma watched him for just a moment, noticing the way he furrowed his brows. It was the exact way she furrowed hers. She opened the book once more and saw a woman staring down Rumplestiltskin. Her hair was a rich brown and hung in curls, and her dress was gold. Everyone else seemed afraid, except her. Her blue eyes held Rumpelstilskin’s gaze in a fierce bravery Emma wasn’t sure she had herself. 

“Belle,” Emma said. Henry gasped and grabbed the book.

“Of course! Belle! If anyone knew about Rose, it would be Belle. So we just need to find her,” Henry said quickly.

“Alright, who’s Belle in town? The Librarian?”

“The library is closed, you saw that. No… that’s the problem.”

“What?”

Henry shrugged. “Belle isn’t  _ in _ town. Last we hear of her in the book… well… the Evil Queen locked her in a tower.”

“Henry...no-”

“My mom has Belle locked up somewhere, Emma! And if you want to know about Rose, then she knows the answers.”

Emma sighed once more. This kid and his imagination. It was crazy. And despite her new role as deputy, a storybook was not enough to get a search warrant on the Mayor. 

“Let’s get you home,” was all she chose to say. Emma drove back to the mayor’s house and parked right by the gate. Henry got out, leaving the book in the yellow bug as he always did now. “Belle is the key, Emma,” he said, leaning in. 

“Kid, I’m just trying to figure out the town in general. I’m not going to accuse your mom of having a prisoner. Deputy work is already enough without being a detective on top of it.” 

“Well, just look out for Belle okay?”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow Henry.”

“Bye.” The eleven year old ran up to the large house, and Emma pulled away. 

She passed by the pawn shop one more time, and saw Mr. Gold locking the front door while Rose climbed into the passenger seat of an old car. She did seem content and happy. Maybe Emma was just making a larger deal out of it than she needed to.

After all, wasn’t she the same? Hadn’t she been the kid no one really knew about?

Emma walked into the loft, setting down her keys as Mary Margaret was already offering a cup of tea. She was definitely overreacting!

Nothing was unusual about Rosaline Gold.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick housekeeping: The chapters are going to mostly alternate from Enchanted Forest to Storybrooke, much like how the show's episodes do. Along with that, each chapter will be a different perspective. Rumple, Juliet, Belle, and Emma are the four I know there will be chapters for now. This fic is a kind of an experimental one for me, so any feedback is really appreciated!
> 
> Along with that, I'm hoping to update weekly on Mondays, but wanted to give you Chapter 2 ASAP since Chapter 1 was so short, it was nearly a prologue more than a chapter.
> 
> Lastly, I appreciate you all, as always, and feedback really does mean a lot to all fic writers. Feel free to comment or come talk to me at universesinhermind on Tumblr. Love you all!!! I'll see you on 10/12 with Chapter 3!
> 
> EDIT: This chapter has been updated and rewritten! Again, thank you to supertrooperbyabba on Tumblr for beta reading!


	3. Of Castles and Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumplestiltskin becomes a father once more, and the castle becomes more of a home.

Before Juliet, the Dark Castle lived up to its name. No cobwebs or dust to make it scary; that was far too tacky for the Dark One. But the hyper-realistic gargoyles, the dark curtains blocking out the sun, and the beautifully furnished yet empty rooms provided the Dark One atmosphere he so loved.

Before Juliet, there were no toys or gowns in the castle, and his displays of weapons and magical and cursed items were proudly out for any unfortunate soul to touch.

Before Juliet, the fireplace grates were never closed and the chairs by them never used. The Dark One didn’t enjoy sitting by the fireplace very often. He preferred his spinning wheel. He preferred his solitude and his thoughts and his magic and the chill of cold that reminded him despite the parasite in his mind, he was  _ alive _ . 

All of this was before the tiny bundle of pink blankets he had brought into the castle.

The first night was the most nerve racking. It had been years since he’d last cared for an infant, and Milah - gods, he hated even _thinking_ her name - had nursed Bae until he was old enough to eat the food they ate themselves.. Rumplestiltskin had sat at the girl’s crib side all night, spinning straw to gold and keeping his eyes on her between adding stalks and pulling the thread. When she stirred and gave out the fragile wail, he’d summoned a warmed bottle of milk and held her as she fed. 

She fascinated him. Innocence personified into a tiny little pink and yellow thing. Not only that, but she was so warm, and her little fingers gripped tightly to his own index finger. He couldn’t bear to set her down after she ate and was properly burped and swaddled once more. That was the first time he’d swaddled her to his chest, changing his shirt to the softest material he could for her cheek to rest upon. He had seen plenty of women in his village, centuries and lifetimes ago now, carrying their infants this way, and he himself had done it a time or two with Bae. The walking stick had made carrying him impossible, and Milah’s habits made leaving him with her just as impossible. 

For the first time in centuries, he was reminded how the small weight on his chest was such a comfort. A little living thing that needed him.. And for the first time in far too long, the Dark One’s voice silenced in his head, without him spinning to do so. Just the presence of such purity against him silenced it all.

The next nights followed the same routine. He’d hold her as she fell asleep and rocked her to keep her asleep. He’d dress her in beautiful little infant gowns, embroidered with flowers and stars.

By the time it was summer, she was sitting up and cooing at him, giggling at things he did. He entertained her with magic. Making balls appear and disappear, making little shapes and animals from starlight.

This was when he decided she needed a companion. He’d had his doll. Bae had his own as well. Rumplestiltskin had never been able to afford a nice stuffed animal for his son. For his daughter, he could make as many for her as he so desired. And he had. An army of stuffed animals had taken up the nursery, and he held out each one, waiting to see which one she’d love.

It hadn’t taken long. She’d smile and giggled at them all, but the instant he held up a white bunny, she was reaching for it, tumbling over and giggling more. The bunny was as large as she was, and she wouldn’t let it out of her arms. She’d put on the weight she’d been so lacking of before. Her blonde hair was curling now, ever so slightly. 

Rumplestiltskin was  _ proud _ of her; an odd feeling to hold for a child of five months who could barely sit up on their own. But it was true. He was proud. Proud of every little thing she did. How she giggled and smiled in the morning at him. How she would, on miraculous occasions, sleep through the night and let him spin in peace. 

Juliet stayed the best kept secret in the Enchanted Forest. No one went to the Dark One’s castle and  _ lived _ to speak about it, and Juliet was never taken outside of the castle for anyone to see.

Gerrault and Hadley, however, remembered their baby daughter. Though they never spoke of her. Guests came to the lovely estate and spoke to the rich couple about the possibility of children. Hadley would smile and glance at Gerrault.

“We haven’t had a child yet. One day, though, we will grow our lovely family. Our child will want for nothing.”

While not part of the deal normally, The Dark One had been tempted to wipe their memory. But he found it useless. They probably thought the girl died in some ritualistic sacrifice by now. Another innocent soul taken by the Dark One for his dark deeds. That the Dark One had no heart, no mercy. The monster incapable of love. Not only a monster, but a monster who seemed to have no weakness.

How untrue. Everyone had a weakness! Rumplestiltskin prided himself on knowing these weaknesses and then exploiting them. And regardless of who you were, The Dark One or the princess, weakness began with  _ love _ . 

Examples include love for gold, love for yourself, or love for another.

Rumplestiltskin loved power.

Rumplestiltskin loved magic.

Rumplestiltskin loved his dagger. (This one was not a wanted love. He actually hated the dagger. He loved that he possessed it and thus was not in the control of another man’s will.)

The newest addition, and now probably the most important, was Juliet.

Rumplestiltskin loved Juliet. 

What a terrible thing it was to love so deeply. Like being bruised all over and never having the comfort of healing. People pushing at the blue and purple marks until you were nothing but a sore mess all over. That what love was to the Dark One.

That and guilt. How could he feel this way about Juliet and not have been able to feel it for Bae? Back then he had chosen his magic and by extension his power. It had been an unspoken thing that those ranked higher than the teen. But those circumstances had been different.

The Dark One’s voice had been so new, so tantalizing. So scared to lose itself and its power. And Bae had been so stubborn. It didn’t make it any easier. Rumple was older now. Wiser. More accustomed to the horrible thoughts the Dark One slipped into his head. He had learned to keep those thoughts away. Away from children specifically. Rumplestiltskin had made a deal with himself that he’d never harm another child so long as he lived in this realm or any other.

Rumplestiltskin never broke a deal.

Not after Baelfire.

Deals and business had not changed much for Rumplestiltskin. He still was called upon, and certain times he made deals and most times he didn’t. People didn’t know what to give him. Gold was useless. Armies he had no need for. No. The Dark One needed something precious and irreplaceable. 

Memories. Family heirlooms. Infants. 

All of these were precious and unique and none would ever be quite the same. For some people, their end of the deal felt better, but Rumplestiltskin’s ledgers were always balanced. He owed no one. And eventually, no one would owe him. Well… Cora owed him, however he considered the opportunity to train Regina payment enough. He did get Cora’s child, even if it wasn’t the way he thought he would. Eventually, everything balanced in the end.

It was easy to keep up with this life when Juliet was an infant. The door to her room locked, only him allowed to open it. There were magical alarms set at the entrance and the windows, so he would know if someone tried to get in or out. And she was, after all, a baby. Babies tend to sleep for hours and stay in one spot. The detailed crib was the safest spot in the castle for Juliet. And his deals never took more than 30 minutes. So he never felt guilty for letting her rest in her room. He could’ve been home the second she awoke if needed. 

For her first birthday, Rumplestiltskin had a beautiful cake summoned and a plethora of new toys. The girl got gifts every week from her father, and new clothes often. She was growing like a weed! Her hair had not stopped curling, and she cooed and giggled and waved.

She ate the cake by the fistful, humming after every bite. A sweet tooth. Much like him. He’d never had sweet things before, but now he took his tea with mountains of sugar and ate cookies and cakes and scones as he pleased. Whenever he could. Whenever he wanted.

It was the Spring Equinox. Across the realms, queens hosted balls, peasants raised glasses to the snow melt, and the Dark One celebrated the birth of his daughter. Gerrault and Hadley had forgotten the girl entirely by now. Their estate and money was everything they’d asked for. No. Instead they celebrated the discovery that Hadley would be having a baby.

“Our first,” Gerrault said happily.

Regardless of how cruel Rumplestiltskin was, he found that normal people would be cruel themselves, if only given the right push. Their gold and estate meant more than the first baby they’d had. So much more, it eclipsed her.

That was quite alright with Rumple. It meant that there was now not a single soul who knew of this girl. Of her dimpled smile and the eyes that shone a deep green. Of the giggle and of her first word: Papa. 

By the time she was 2, she was speaking small sentences and walking around. This was when dealing became harder. He made the excuse that there were simply no good deals to be made, but it was untrue. There were, but he didn’t risk leaving the toddler.

“Papa, magic bunny?” she’d asked, and he’d conjure a spectral rabbit for her to chase after. 

“Papa? Bite?” she’d say, and he’d conjure a table full of foods for her to eat, even if she only took a singular bite out of any one dish.

“Papa!”

That was his favorite. When he’d walk to her room in the morning and she’d smile, stand up, and squeal his name. The new routine now involved him setting her down for the night and spinning back in his tower. The rhythm of the wheel had begun to wake her. Then he’d wake her in the morning, more often she was already up, and take her to his arms. Her little blonde head would rest on his shoulder, and he would sit in a rocking chair and glide it back and forth as she woke up.

The room stayed the brightest in the castle. He’d made the crib larger, and knew that soon it would be a bed. He enchanted the mobile to play a soft lullaby for her. Anything and everything for his Juliet.

Roses planted outside of her window so she could smell the sweet aroma. Roses that never wilted. Never died. She would nap after lunch, in his arms. He had once set her down and realized his mistake when she woke sobbing. Juliet, it seemed, did not like to wake up where she had not fallen asleep. She’d wail and sob and blubber to him until she was too tired from it all and fell back to sleep, or just sat there against his chest like a doll.

Soon, he would return to work. He’d give her everything to be entertained with inside her room and be gone only as long as needed. He glanced out the window, Juliet asleep against his chest. His normal scaled waistcoat and jacket were gone. He liked feeling her warmth through the soft shirt, and he noticed her cheek was always above his heart. Perhaps the sound comforted her. 

The sky outside was a vivid blue. It was just becoming autumn. Leaves were burnt orange and yellow and red, but the view from her windows didn’t show that. It showed the mountains, snow capped and purple against the blue sky. The evergreen trees marched up the hill towards the castle.

There was something about trees marching uphill. It tickled his mind, the magic very distinctly that from the seer. But the future was full of too many possibilities, and he avoided them as much as possible.

Because there was always the possibility he would lose her.

That she would hate him.

That she would run away, like Bae.

Rumple kissed the top of her curly head and closed his eyes.

“Stay with me, my flower. Papa will protect you from the world. All you have to do is stay right here,” he pleaded softly.

The toddler moved and opened her eyes lazily. She smiled up at him.

“Hi, Papa.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and such always appreciated of course. See you all next week! <3


	4. Of Paintings and Shops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose helps around the shop, contemplating items, and finds out a new piece of information on a mysterious painting she's always loved.

“The horror, the horror!”

Silence.

“Kurtz’s last words. His eyes haunted as he repeated those two words.”

More silence. One student coughed.

“Who announced Kurtz’s death?”

Mr. Raven was an energetic man with brown eyes and black hair that stuck up in every direction. His usual look could only be described as frazzled. The book in his hand was annotated with more sticky notes than there were pages. 

Rose had her own copy of the novel, different from the copies that the school provided. It was just as well worn as Mr. Raven’s, with a few sticky tabs marking pages, and lots of writing in pencil inside. Rose liked to write in her books. The idea that someday, someone might read her thoughts as they read through the book excited her. Maybe they would think she was a genius, or an idiot. Either way, they knew she had existed. That she had held onto those pages. Sometimes she liked to reread the books she annotated, just to revisit her past thoughts and feelings. 

The quote Mr. Raven wanted was underlined in red. Her father’s annotation. Not hers. Mr. Gold annotated by underlining his favorite lines and that was all. No thoughts or feelings or predictions scrambled in the small margins. And always in red ink. 

“The boy,” Rose answered, not raising her hand. Her voice sounded quiet. Thin and delicate. She winced hearing it. At home, she wasn’t quiet or timid. She was talkative and could spew out words a mile a minute, her accent perfectly in tune with her father’s.

When she was comfortable, her accent wasn’t so light and her voice not so high. When she was comfortable.

Her class full of 16 and 17 year olds who all thought her a recluse sitting there watching her and listening to her?

Not comfortable. 

“Excellent, Ms. Gold. And what does the boy say?”

Rose glanced down at her book to make sure she got the quote exactly right.

“‘Mistah Kurtz. He dead.’” 

The silence from the other students as they kept their eyes low and away from Mr. Raven said enough about who read the novella and who didn’t. 

“Was Rose the only one who read _Heart of Darkness_? ”

Silence. And within the silence, Mr. Raven’s answer rang out as loud as a bell.

He let out a long sigh which was interrupted by the actual school bell. Suddenly every student was scrambling to collect everything.

“We begin Shakespeare next week! Your essay on _Heart of Darkness_ is due on Monday. Then into the bard we go!” he spoke over the shuffling papers and zipping bags.

Rose stood last and walked to Mr. Raven’s desk. A writing desk. He was always quoting Poe and the famous story, practically making the macabre author a personality trait for himself. She handed over a few papers.

“Here’s my essay,” she said.

He glanced up to her then to the papers. “It isn’t due until Monday. You can always turn it in then. Have the weekend to look it over.”

“I know. But I’ve reviewed this draft three times already. If I keep it over the weekend, I’ll decide it’s rubbish and rewrite the whole thing.” Which had happened before. With _Lord of the Flies_. 

He sighed and took the paper from her fingers. “One of these days, Ms. Gold, I will find a novel you hadn’t read before and then see what the mind can do with new content,” he said.

She gave a smile. Mr. Raven was her favorite teacher. He was eccentric and he liked her. He thought she was bright and brilliant. All the best things about good students. He wasn’t wrong, however, Rose didn’t have a natural ability to be so perfectly ready for any question he gave. It was only English and History she did so well in.

When your life was school and home and your father was more disliked than the devil in town, you found yourself reading a lot. That was all.

Rose left with a soft goodbye and wished Mr. Raven a wonderful weekend. Her locker was very clean and organized. She grabbed everything, deciding this weekend would be a good time to catch up on her notes for her other classes. Every other senior got the last period of the day as a study hall. But Rose, and one other senior were given special dismissal to go and work. Holly worked at the grocery store her parents owned.

Rose had the shop. 

It was a short walk from school, and she liked the movement. Even if it wasn’t a short walk, she’d walk regardless. The car her father drove was loud and old and very recognizable. She liked having the time to be invisible on the streets as she walked down to the Pawn shop. 

The bells tinkled above her as the door swung open and shut. There was piano music playing from the old record, and she knew that he was in the back working. An old mantel clock had come in and it needed repairs. It never told the time. Rose had laughed at it, saying the hands looked as if they were forming a mustache. 

“Papa! I’m here!” she called, setting her bag on the floor behind the counter and the extra books on the glass. 

“Back here, Rose.”

Rose walked back, taking off the cardigan with her uniform and beginning to loosen her tie. Just as she’d suspected, her father was crouched over the work table, adjusting tiny screws and cogs. Rose sat on the table where she wouldn’t disturb anything and he smiled. 

“Hello. How was school?”

“Fine,” she said and picked up a candelabra also on the table. One of the arms was slightly crooked, and it needed a lot of polishing. There was wax pouring over and the candles were half melted and dirty looking. She set it back down. That would probably be on her list of things to do. 

“You have homework I’m assuming,” he said, returning his gaze through the magnifying glass to the inner workings of the clock.

“Chemistry. Trig. I have a reading guide to do for my history text. And some French,” she said. “Nothing crazy though. Only five questions each for chem and trig. And for French it’s just a worksheet about conjugations.”

“Your French is already very good,” he pointed out.

“I know. I’m not worried. I’m going to spend the weekend studying and fixing my notes. I’ll probably get the homework done tonight.”

“Smart girl.”

There was silence where all that could be heard was him fiddling with the cogs and her pulling her tie off. 

“Anything I can do?”

He glanced up and then looked around the back room. It was far messier back here than up front. Up front had some level of organization, in that there were cases for jewelry and shelves for books, and everything else found a spot somewhere. In the back, nothing was in any sort of organized spot. Items were placed where they fit. Rose adored both rooms though. The clutter and the history of it all. The shop was one of her safe places to go when she needed to.

“You know what needs done around here. Or you’re more than welcome to come back here and do homework, you know that,” he said. Rose shrugged and went back to the front. 

There wasn’t too much to do. They kept it clean, dusting the shelves every morning and sweeping every evening. The index cards they used for inventory were always organized, lest her father lose his temper at them. There was that candelabra, but she didn’t feel like trying to polish it. That would be a project for when she wasn’t wearing her school uniform and could dirty it with wax and polish. No. Everything had its place and everything was in its place. 

_ Including me _ thought Rose as she adjusted an old tea set. There were only three cups. The fourth was back in their home, sitting in a glass-face cupboard. There was a chip on the edge, and since it was still functional, her father had brought it home instead of trying to sell it damaged. 

Everything in its place, including Rose. She had made a promise- no, a deal - with her father to always tell her where she was. But the issue with that was that no one invited her places, so where she was was always at home, school, or doing miscellaneous tasks like Granny’s or the music store to buy more sheet music. 

Rose took down one of the cups and examined it. Light blue florals decorated the thin porcelain and gold trimmed the edges light a kiss. The set they had at home didn’t match, a result of make breaks over the years of tea making. The tradition was always that she’d make them tea in the evening and try to do something together. Watch a movie or even read on opposite ends of the couch. Maybe she would play for him as he checked the rent money. Maybe he would read aloud to her. Those were her favorite nights. She liked curling up and listening to his voice as he told a story.

She liked when he called her his bairn. 

She liked when he’d correct her.

“Biscuits, not cookies!”

“Papa, I’ve lived in America my whole life. They’re cookies.”

It would always end with a little deal that they’d set aside the linguistic difference and settle on scones instead. Or brownies. Or cake. Or any multitude of sweet. They both could eat an entire cake in one sitting with the sweet tooths they had.

Rose set the cup back on the matching tray before examining more of the items. Her favorites were easy to spot. She always knew where they were.

The mobile. There were two in the shop. One of glass with little unicorns on it. One with roses, that tinkled a soft lullaby when it rotated. That one was her favorite. The roses and lullaby. Then there was the crib it went with. Carved from dark wood with engravings of fairy tales on it. Rose had never been able to name them all… 

Then there was the painting. It was tucked in the back corner where her father couldn’t see it. He’d insisted that he never wanted to see it. That her eyes followed him.

Rose loved it. A beautiful woman with brown curls and brilliant blue eyes smiled softly from the canvas. She wore a ballgown of yellow and held a book in one arm. Rose assumed it was just a painting of no one, but she found herself always drawn to the woman. Her smile and eyes seemed so kind. So warm and kind and wonderful.

Rose carefully covered the painting with the sheet again, and tucked it away. “Until next time…”

The teen jumped when the bell rang once more. She turned to see who it was, and wasn’t shocked to find Regina. 

“Good afternoon, Madame Mayor,” Rose said, loud enough for her father to hear in the back. It worked, since Rose could hear the creaking of wood from the bench he’d been sat on.

“Rose,” Regina said with a smile. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well. I’m keeping busy with school.” She walked over to the counter, relieved when she heard her father’s footsteps coming.

“Miss Mills. How may I help you today?” Mr. Gold spoke.

Regina smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes Rose noticed. Rose subconsciously moved closer to her father, as if to hide behind him. She was small enough that she could hide behind his frame.

“I want to talk business, Gold. And we can’t have any little birdies that might be telling the town.”

Rose frowned and looked at her father before she shrugged. “I’ll go take a walk then,” she said and left, with a final glance over her shoulder. She could’ve sworn she saw something in her father’s expression change, but she let it go and left to the street.

The library had been closed for decades, so she’d heard. But Rose found herself peeking through the slats now and again, seeing the bookshelves covered in dust and unused, the circulation desk with cobwebs, and what appeared to be an elevator in the back.

Maybe one day it would open. The clock above it had finally started working. Rose could hear it ticking above her. She was just contemplating what the view up there would look like and how to possibly sneak up there before she heard her name.

She turned and smiled seeing the boy. “Henry!”

“Hi, Rose! How are you?”

“Good. Your mother left you in the car?”

“Yeah, but I saw you walking and I wanted to talk.” He pulled out his book. Everyone in town knew about Henry’s book.

Rose had never seen it before. Henry propped it open on his hip and flipped to a page. “Do you know this woman?”

Rose glanced down and gave a tiny gasp. “I… I mean, no. Not personally. But there’s a painting of her in my father’s shop. He says it was from some estate sale. I didn’t realize she was in your book. That’s odd, I was just looking at that painting too.” 

Henry frowned. “You’ve never seen her around town?”

“You know I don’t socialize a lot, Henry. I’m not the best to ask about that… am I in your book?” she asked, smiling softly. Henry looked down.

“No… that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Everyone important in town is also in here. Your dad is. But you aren’t.”

“I’m not that interesting. No one wants to read a story with me as the main character,” Rose said with a joking lilt to her voice. She glanced across the street and saw Regina leaving.

“Henry. Come on,” she called in her commanding voice. Henry looked up at Rose.

“If you see her, will you tell me?”

“Who is she? In your book I mean?” Rose asked. “And yes. I’ll tell you.” The likelihood she’d find a woman whose portrait was found in an estate sale was slim to none. Though there was no harm in making the promise to Henry. 

Henry put the book back in his backpack. “It’s Belle,” he said before leaving to his mother’s waiting care.

Rose watched the black car drive off before giving a contemplative hum. 

“Belle,” she said. Somehow it felt as if she had always known the woman’s name.  _ Belle _ .


	5. Of Birthday Wishes and Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet's birthday is soon and one of her wishes leaves Rumplestiltskin at a loss for what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So this fic will be updating bi-weekly, since school is kind of coming to a head now. I hope to post longer chapter then, though no promises. Thank you all for the comments! They really help me when its tough to write, and give me a lot of excellent ideas for things I could add in! <3 I'll see you all in a couple weeks! 
> 
> PS: I didn't have a lot of time to proof-read this, so I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Six year olds, Rumplestiltskin was now remembering, were a handful at the best of times and a migraine at the worst. Luckily, Juliet was typically very good. Juliet was as sweet as he’d expected and as curious as any other child would be. 

He often found her hiding around the castle, or trying to get into the archives, where he had placed all the dangerous magical items he owned. As soon as she had begun toddling around, he had made the archive to protect her and his collection. 

Every time he found her in one of those spots he would pull her to hisaarms quickly. She would always giggle, a sound that melted his heart. The spring sun melting the dark winter’s snow. She would then place both her little hands on his cheek to still him so she could place her forehead against his. He’d then kiss her nose and take her off somewhere to be safe. Either to read a book in the library or to her playroom. She’d taken an interest to the piano recently, and he had let her begin to learn on her own. She was a smart little thing, that much he was certain about. Perhaps one day he’d find a tutor for her piano. Until then, he did just fine teaching her the basics. Reading, arithmetic, history. Deals. 

Promises were not made in the Dark Castle; deals were. So Juliet learned what made a good deal. What could be a loophole. What could be used to her advantage. Given, he always gave her the best end of the deal. He would lay in bed with her and chase away any nightmares, only if she didn’t hog the blankets. He would bake her sweet rolls from scratch but she had to promise to get her chores done before dinner time. 

Rumple did not do this because he thought she would ever be as interested in deals and need them as he did, but he wanted her to know how to protect herself when making them. How to avoid being exploited. His sweet, little girl. 

She was still so very tiny, though she ate more than he’d ever seen a girl eat. No matter. If she was tiny, it was easy to hold her close. To hold her on his hip in one arm as he made shapes and stars in his other hand, a trick she still loved. 

Her questions were what he loved the most. Questions about the world and about her life. Why did they live in a castle alone? Why didn’t she had magic? Why did she look different than him?

That last question had been a shock. He was sure it would’ve been the reverse. Why did he look different? But the child had looked at her father and assumed she was different. Rumple had carefully explained to little Juliet that she wasn’t different. That his magic made him look a little funny, but she didn’t care. 

“I like how you look, Papa. I like your hair a lot!” Indeed she did. Whenever she had the chance, her little fingers were gently playing with his hair. He didn’t mind, as he often found himself playing with her tight ringlet curls. She truly made him feel _human_ again. She chased out part of the monster that had taken root inside of him.

He just prayed it would stay away. That he wasn’t going to hurt her by being her father… 

Winter had held strong, and despite the Spring Equinox coming there was still a foot of snow on the ground. Juliet played outside in the white snow, making snow angels and watching the large flakes float down from the gray sky. Her dress and cloak were a bright cobalt blue against the pure white snow they got here in the mountains. He had to remind her to keep the hood up, but she always would pull it down once he glanced away. Her boots kept her feet warm and dry, and her mittens had been enchanted to never let her fingers grow cold either. 

The two of them had made a snowman, which stood guard over the little one’s fun for the rest of the day. Rumple sat, watching as he also contemplated his plan. He had to get back to work and soon. He had delayed it for six years now. Six years he hadn’t actively searched for a way to Baelfire. Did that make him a poor father?

A soft giggle reminded him why he had paused his work. For her. For his Juliet. She had tossed a handful of snow into the air and was watching it fall, giggling loudly. He smiled softly, as much as the Dark One did. Only for her. Juliet was special.

Juliet adored winter. Winter in the dark castle wasn’t a problem. Every fire stayed roaring, every room perfectly warm. There was no lack of food. Roasted and smoked meats, dried and jammed and preserved fruits, breads and cheeses and sweets for her. But lifetimes ago, winter had not been easy. Rumple could remember having to go hungry, though he couldn’t recall what the sensation felt like. He could remember trying to find even a crust of bread for his son. He remembered being cold and frightened.

He had been so frightened back then.

And with Juliet he was frightened once more. Frightened that she would be hurt. That she would discover the monster he was.

That she would leave.

“Papa! Give Olaf a hug!” she called.

Rumple looked at the snowman and smiled. “Does a snowman like hugs?”

Juliet giggled and hugged the snowman before running to him. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, but her eyes bright from playing. “Can you make him dance?” she asked in a knowing tone of voice.

He could make the snowman dance. He chuckled and waved his hand. With a soft purple mist around it, the snowman began to do a funny dance. Juliet giggled and ran over to dance with the animated snowman.

Her birthday was soon, coming up in just a couple of weeks. She would be seven years old. He knew he would spoil her of course. A hundred presents and a cake as tall as she was. However, Juliet had already requested a gift.

A ball.

She wished to have a ball where others came to the castle, like in one of her favorite stories. The problem was, he didn’t want a single soul to know about Juliet. No. Juliet was sacred. Juliet was his. His weakness. If anyone wanted to hurt him, all they would have to do is get to Juliet. Even a threat to the green-eyed child was asking for the Dark One to give you a very slow and very painful death. 

There was no way for him to give her a ball with other guests without also risking her safety. She was _his_ child, which meant she would grow up with a target on her back.

Juliet seemed thrilled to dance with the snowman. It gave Rumple the glimmer of an idea… she wanted a ball after all. And he was magic. Who said the guests couldn’t be magic as well?

Her birthday came faster than he had anticipated, though being the master of dark magic he was, it didn’t matter. He was able to procure her favorite cake and a plethora of gifts easily, and spent the night before decorating the main hall and preparing the dining room.

Though there was one thing he did without magic. The sticky sweet rolls. A treat he would make her on special occasions, never with any magic. That’s what made them even more special. Work and love and effort were put into them. 

Rumple always thought of Bae when he made the sweet rolls. Bae had loved them just as Juliet did, but sugar had been so hard to get. When they did have it, Rumple would always squirrel some away for these rolls. Bae would always dip his in milk. Juliet liked to add a little jam to hers, or to just eat them off the tray and lick her fingers clean.

The smell of the sweet rolls filled the kitchen and dining room, and the presents were all perfectly wrapped and stacked in a neat pile. A new doll, dresses, golden jewelry made from the gold he’d spun, books and toys and sweets. He’d even gotten her an enchanted music box that played a never ending melody, never the same, and always sweet. 

Waking Juliet was usually a nightmare. She was not one who easily awoke, though she always loved spending mornings with her papa. However, it was her birthday. The door made no sound as he opened it, and he sat on the edge of the very large and very pink bed.

“Juliet,” he cooed softly, stroking back a stray curl. “Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered slightly, and she smiled up at her papa. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Happy birthday.”

All the presents were open, all the sticky sweet rolls eaten, and all the hugs and kisses given. Juliet was content to play with her new doll and a toy tea set he’d given her. Dinner had been just as special. Her favorite soup and bread. A simple meal, yet one she always begged for on special occasions. After all had been eaten, Juliet had once again retreated to the soft rug in front of the fireplace to sit and play.

“I have one last surprise for you, my love,” he said. “Sit at the head of the table.”

Juliet giggled and hopped up to sit at the large one, where he normally sat. Her green eyes were as wide as her toothy grin. A little girl lost in the wonder of her birthday. Outside the sun was shining, though not enough to melt away the snow.

“No guests were able to come due to the snow storm. So, I’ve brought new guests to you.”

With a simple snap of his fingers, the lights were suddenly blown out, all except for one. The musical instruments began to play on their own, having been set up early that morning, or late last night (it depended on when one went to sleep, which was never for the Dark One). Plates, spoons, napkins, chairs, cups, and everything else in between began to move and dance. Juliet’s little gasps and claps and giggles were enough to know she was enjoying the show. It had taken more magic than he’d though. A large price to pay one day.

But his little girl’s happiness on her birthday? 

He’d gladly pay that price.

When the spectacle was over, she was running to him, hugging him tightly. “I loved it, Papa! Can we do it again?”

“Not right now. I’m glad you enjoyed it… did you enjoy your birthday,” he asked, lifting her up. She was seven now. Probably too old to be lifted and carried around. If he wasn’t given the odd strength that came with being the Dark One, he doubted he would be able to. But she was his little girl. As long as she could fit into his arms, she would stay there. 

“I did,” she said. Her curly blonde head rested against his shoulder, eyes closing. “There was one thing I was wishing for though.”

“And what was that? Your ball?”

She shook her head. He was walking her up to her room. Despite his not wanting her to, she had stayed in pajamas all day long. Birthdays were days where certain rules could be bent he supposed. Regardless, he got a new nightgown from the wardrobe for her and set her and the gown on the bed.

Juliet seemed hesitant to tell him.

“Well, maybe you can tell me after your bath?”

“Maybe.”

Secrets weren’t a thing they kept from each other. At least, not things that she kept from him. The Dark One had many secrets, the largest being he was the Dark One. To this little ball of sunshine, he was simply Papa. He would like to stay that way as long as possible. 

Her bath was inconsequential, as most were. The enchanted tub was the perfect temperature, and he carefully combed out her curls and placed lavender oil in them, as he had once heard an old acquaintance say to do with curly hair. Once she was dressed in the clean nightgown and her curls were properly detangled and oiled, he walked back to her room.

“What’s your wish? I could perhaps see if I can give it to you next year,” he said. Juliet climbed into the large bed and under the covers, wordlessly.

“Juliet, I can’t give you what you won’t tell me you wish for,” he said. His voice remained soft and loving.

“I want a mother.”

His eyes widened at that and he gave a hard swallow. “Ah. A mother.”

“Like in all my stories.”

Rumple frowned. “Perhaps… perhaps one day there will be another here. But for now we are safe. Just us. The less people who know of us and our lovely little life, the better. Don’t you think so? We’re happy. And we are _safe_ , Juliet. That’s the important part.”

She nodded. “Safe,” she repeated. Her new doll sat next to her loved stuffed bunny, which she had named Dawn when she was four. 

“Precisely. For now, you and I are safest being alone. Trust me, Juliet. I do everything out of love for you.”

“I know, Papa.”

They were quiet for a minute. The only sound was that of the old clock on her mantle, though the second hand often got stuck. He should fix that… 

“I love you, Papa,” she finally whispered. 

Rumple kissed her forehead. “As I love you.” With a wave of his hand, the candles were all out except one. His little girl didn’t like the dark.

“We are safe, Papa.”

“So long as you have me, you will always be safe.”

With the door closed and his little girl in bed, Rumplestiltskin finally had a moment to consider what she had asked for. A mother. A little girl who desperately wanted a mother…What kind of monster would he be to deny her that basic desire? A cruel one. A monster who had already seen what being motherless could do for a child. A man who had grown up without one himself, asking for a mother just as his child had…

She was seven now. Old enough to know better than to disobey him. Old enough to stay in her room if asked. Old enough to know what _safe_ meant and why it was important.

It was time for the Dark One to begin dealing again. 

  
  
  


  
  



End file.
